


Fear City

by Anonymous



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Relationships: Balalaika/Rebecca "Revy" Lee
Kudos: 9
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	Fear City

New York or “Fear City”

Or that was the nickname it had when “The Great Revy” was born. Yep, born in the year 1972 in Lower Manhattan, Chinatown. That was only one of the very few vauge details that her Sis knew about her past life, when she was alive for a couple dirty heartbeats. 

She didn’t exactly lie to her about the topic, though she could tell from the clenched jaw, or tapping and digging of acrylics on her skin or even the way her eyes narrowed that the older woman saw it that way. Probably thought that out of desperation her Two Hands was changing the power between them on purpose or just saw her as fucking petty at this point.

It wasn’t either one and Rebecca could only watch as her glass tomb came close to shattering each time a question choked her Sofiya. Every time she attempted to finally open up about it she was either already on the floor spitting out words that could only be sliced open in fragments or her eyes had already begun to go slack as her canines gleamed in her curve of a smirk as her fingers twitched for power. So Balalaika learned not to push, though it was clear it was still testing her patience as it ran by a ratty shoestring on the topic.

The first test of it was about her first cigar. There’s a term called “slumming” in New York as the fat cats would visit the slums of New York to view sights that were inhumane in humanity’s eye and using it for wisecracks and banter at their next dinner party. It still made them imitate the dead bodies they saw as their mouths are split open and sound slithers out. 

So a perfect family, dressed as if they were at Church moments prior with ash crosses on their foreheads came to her neighborhood with a crisp, fresh dollar bill, that was presented with a thumb that covered where a zero was promised to be it had her eyes light up. The sun blocked her vision of it completely though at that point all she saw was a vision of what could’ve been and desperation as they didn’t even step close enough for her to see the other numbers on it.

The cigar they granted her was clearly meant for her as the flavor fit in the trash filled alleyway. It was thrown at her with a lighter and luckily she was able to catch the cigar as the lighter hit her square in the nose. Flash forward and she’s doubled over as a curse crumples carelessly out of her mouth with a leftover of smoke. Despite that it made the corners of their lips grow as they applauded her with the same fake encouragement her teacher gave her when she was the last one to finish a test.

The next stream of smoke was nothing compared to the joy on all four faces when they heard her whimper after a particularly harsh puff. They soon got bored as they called over some boys that she recognized were in her class. Smoke only sputtered more as each of them were offered two dollars if they beat they shit out of her for every wrong puff. Finishing the cigar the family left with a cheery goodbye to the boys. Most of them spat on her when they left with their earnings.

So she was left there in an alleyway next to garbage as blood and smoke exited her body. One hand clutched the lighter left next to her as the other held up the dollar in the sun as she exhaled ragged wheezes. It didn’t have a single zero. Her mouth opened and laughter poured out as the warm sun made the saliva on her burn as her eyes obliviously followed the trash cans surrounding her, painting a mural for herself as fixed laughter transformed into neglected sobs. The lesson she learned is the difference between her and the boys was that they got paid a higher price followed with a goodbye while she was left with spit, smoke, and a dollar bill.

A following test was about the scar on her forehead. Sofiya didn’t openly say it, though every time a kiss was left on it, it only ached more. After a rejection of an order a hand rested in sympathy on her throat as she was tugged on her hoodie to the balcony outside. It was snowing and snowflakes scattered like bullets on her face, as they sat, knowing her fate. The length of his arm granted him the power for her to be held to the point that if he allowed her lungs to be free she would’ve discovered if God listened the whole time to her repeated jukebox of a plea.

Her father gave her an order, one she didn’t submit to. Being held there for shaking seconds made her see the whiteness that was blocking her way to Heaven. 

Nevertheless the railing was embroidered with snowflakes as it began to cascade downward to her knees as she realized she didn’t even want to go to Heaven. Warmth of her back was gouged against the steel just as her hoodie and shirt rode up her body and the court decided her sentence she knew their answer as she was casually tipped over.

Her throat had gone hoarse from her loss of power as she only unconsciously whispered a dry repeat of one-time pleadings. Such as sorry, I submit, and daddy don’t do this. The court finally came to the finalized agreement of her seat as her body buckled and her vision became black. By a virtue truly of God a drunk man had the power to catch a falling person by the ankle. For punishment of her nearly dying he slapped a beer bottle in her face and she saw something besides black and white staining her hoodie. That confused her for a little while as the man both nearly killed her and saved her life with no question.

Then there came a test about how she got good at killing or at least her tracking skills. Crack Cocaine along with heroine infested the Fear City in the 1980s. People became so addicted to it that women would willingly submit to being prostitutes and the price for their cunt was 50 cents. There was a sharp bend of a street with an excellent blind corner called Doyers Street and it became known for the several murders that would occur there as it’s new title became The Bloody Angle. It provided a convenient getaway route to Mott Street through underground passageways.

So a street rat like Revy needed to make some money. What better way than to be a drug courier in these tough times, with the added bonus of a getaway route to make trips easier. All of her income came from it and good practice as a couple of buyers weren’t willing to give the money needed. 

The hard part was just tracking where the fucker was as they really, really, didn’t want to be found and had her practically hunting them down. Another skill she practiced was acrobatics through the lower balconies of her apartment. So that if her father didn’t catch her again she could catch herself on the lower levels so the snow would stay white. Or at least for a little while as a few accidents lead getting the shit pummeled out of her as she missed a balcony and fell to the cement.

Next came a test about whether she ever had anything normal in her childhood. That was an easy one, as she once used her money to watch the Star Wars series. She only watched it for Darth Vader and his complete badass control of the force as he choked people to death. She wondered if that sort of power would change her life.

It did

The only one who knew of it was Benny as they kinda geeked over it a couple times. A contrasting force to that normal would be her reading the playboy magazines her father got and looking at the pictures with jealousy and something else kid her didn’t want to admit. Or something she still won’t admit. A sick part of her at one point even imagined them in modest clothing and being a mother or just showing up to be an open hole to her dad, so she’d get some freedom.

After a while there was a test about if she had a regret in her life. Revy knew the answer for this one though she didn’t confess anything. It would break her if her Sis even knew she did it. Kinda funny that a living kid led Balalaika to Roanapur and a dead one dragged Revy there. The baby’s crying echoed her own when her dad beat the shit out of her. All she remembered was its cries and the mothers just evaporating along with it.  
Then the other brat waddled in, with a confused face as it poked at the corpses, whining and whimpering in the process. The kid probably looked how she did when her dad first hit her. With a mess of confusion and desperate seeking of approval from a person who’s unable to reciprocate. A flinch still escaped her even though she knew how it would end as her gun pressed against another body. With only three humans dead but herself she threw up, the stench of exactly what she was burned her nose and eyes.

She considered just ending it right there, in the end she chose not to repent for her sins, Satan would only take her if she was finally beat. She did however shoot a pillow and leave a white feather on foreheads. That was her plea to God that she reserved her last hope for a spot in heaven for three innocent souls that were looking up at him when they died. She didn’t like killing, it wasn’t some fucking turn on or something for joy. She just liked shooting her gun, and getting reactions though that involved killing. To ease her guilt of doing it she just thought of them as moving paper targets, it certainly made her feel better and made it way more entertaining.

Another test was about why she has migraines along with phantom aches and pains. She didn’t really have an explanation for that one. She could only tell her the locations of the pain which was the left side of her face, wrists, chest, back and crotch area. What she didn’t tell her was that it started happening after her first time and stopping before starting up again when she discovered her Whitman Fever. For some reason her Sis gave her a weird look when she mentioned only the left side of her face and crotch being in the same category of aches.

Which made sense, she didn’t fucking get it either though it didn’t give her the right to judge. It soon became a problem when they figured out that if she was touched in the places when she had her aches she went into her Whitman Fever. So it was freaking her the fuck out when Balalaika still wanted her to come over when she had her aches.

At least for the migraines, they hurt to the point that if she couldn’t sleep it off she’d just get blackout drunk so she wouldn’t have to deal with it. The words just fumbled and gorged like they were at the last supper in her head and she didn’t want to deal with a baby’s cry that spilled spit or feathers made of one dollar bills. All she knew was that her Sofiya didn’t agree with her coping methods.

Then came a test where she was questioned if she believed in God. She just gave a hard no while a recited plea was scented on her tongue for the rest of the day. The one that she would pray to God before she realized he didn’t have a spot for her and she finally understood. “Hey God if you’re there, my life sucks. So for once, please, let me have a happy dream.” She said that every fucking night until she killed that hope with a bullet straight to the head.

The last test was about her first time. Unlike the other questions she doesn’t even remember it. Only a gold ring, a kind face that couldn’t really smile right, handcuffs, cologne that was too musky and strong and him licking her tears. It’s so hazy it’s like her mind is telling her it never happened. 

Some guys wore a gold ring and weren’t married, maybe he was a guy that just couldn’t smile right, maybe he was kinky and brought handcuffs, maybe he just had bad taste in cologne, maybe he was just a shitty partner and didn’t do prep and in apology licked her tears away since his hands were occupied.

She’s never said it out loud though in her mind it just pretended to be right; and that was okay with her. She can’t really find any flaw in it, if there is any. Just a shitty first time by a shitty guy, didn’t mean shit so she didn’t get why her Sis was so insistent on her answer to this question.

Revy always thought it could have some connection with her Whitman Fever phase though her mind just came up dirty when she searched for an answer. So she kept quiet about it. She searched online of what it meant when you can see yourself not from your body though from the ceiling. 

It’s called dissociation and the best answer was that it was happening due to some trauma and should’ve activated or some shit during the trauma though it never happened. So now it’s coming late to make up for lost time.

She wasted a couple bullets on Benny’s computer after that. She paid the price by being forced to give up her Darth Vader action figure for a complete month. Along with buying a new computer.


End file.
